Snowbird's Shorts
by sentinel28
Summary: Louisa Arla-Vlata and Yurika Misumaru may be the best of friends, but there's only so much Louisa can take. When push comes to shove, something's going to get burned. And yes, this is supposed to be funny.
1. Falcons Getting Freaky

_**SNOWBIRD'S SHORTS**_

_Just For Fun Stories of the Snowbird Saga_

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: I honestly have done almost no "for fun" writing for a year—what with a heavy work schedule, editing on two novels, and just a general lack of interest. Hopefully this will change things a bit!_

_Our first installment is a bit on the risque side, but nothing _too_ sexy. PG-13. Hat tip to my dad for this one, who wrote this into one of his stories. Hope he doesn't mind me borrowing a little…_

_There's a subtle Sailor Moon reference in this chapter. "Charlie Mike," incidentally, is military shorthand for "continue mission."_

OPERATION ONE: FALCONS GETTING FREAKY

_Vingaard Keep_

_Virentofta, Pesht Military District, Draconis Combine_

Senefa Malthus was tired. She had been gone a month from Virentofta, on a liasion trip to Precentor Martial Victor Steiner-Davion's headquarters on Tukayyid. With the Word of Blake Jihad, interstellar communications was difficult at times, and with sensitive information, it was better to go in person. It meant a long commute—even with JumpShips and a partial command circuit, it was two weeks to Tukayyid one-way—but necessary. Senefa understood necessary, and she understood why her commanding officer and best friend Sheila Arla-Vlata would ask her to carry the message. She trusted Senefa implicitly, one of less than ten people Sheila felt that way about, which, as she mentioned once, included God.

In any case, it was over. The boring trip between systems, the vaguely nauseous feeling during jumps, the interminable meetings—it was enough for anyone to crave some action, much less a Clanswoman literally bred for combat. Senefa knew she was one of the few Sentinels who wanted to get back into battle, to fight the maniacal Word of Blake and their senseless Jihad. For now, however, she was content to get home and rest for a day or two.

There were other reasons, as well. Waiting at home was her lover, Vornzel. Senefa missed him, more than a Clanswoman should miss a lover, but Senefa did not care much for Clan conventions anymore. Though her background did not really have a concept for love as an Inner Spherian would consider it, she considered herself very much in love with the big former Elemental. The more she thought about it, the more she wanted him. His long, cornrowed hair that she liked to run her fingers through. His handsome face. His biceps, and a thick, broad, muscled chest that left every female who saw him shirtless with dry mouths. His big yet gentle hands. And further below the toned abdominals and between the powerful thighs…well, Senefa mused, she should quit thinking about some things before her driver noticed she was turning a bit red and breathing a bit hard. There was her reputation to consider, after all.

"We're here, Commander." Captain John Stengovich had picked her up at the DropPort, a personal favor to Vornzel, the commanding officer of 3rd Company, Sentinels Light Infantry—that and the fact that Senefa, despite having nearly 20 years of experience as a MechWarrior, did not really know how to drive. Stengovich let her out like a butler, then insisted on getting her luggage, all two duffel bags of it; Clanfolk traveled light. "That is really not necessary, Captain," Senefa told him.

"No trouble, Commander." He followed her through the gate to the modest house she and Vornzel shared. Both of them would have been content with a room in the barracks, but Sheila insisted on "setting them up" close to the base, pointing out that sometimes commanders and married couples needed their privacy. Senefa and Vornzel were not married, but Senefa bowed to Sheila's logic. "Besides, I wanted to introduce you to someone."

That someone was soon revealed. Standing at the back door of Senefa's house was a young woman with tanned skin and, incongrously, blond hair. As soon as Senefa and Stengovich came into view, she snapped to attention with enough force that the leather of her boots smacked together audibly. Her salute was one that would make a drill instructor cry with admiration. She wore the gray, urban-camouflage uniform of the SLI, and despite the body armor and submachinegun slung over her shoulder, the creases on her pants were sharp enough to cut paper. "Commander, this is Private First Class Natsuki Aoyama."

Senefa weighed the PFC. She was young, probably not quite 19, obviously just out of the rigorous SLI training program that washed out two-thirds of every applying class, and turned those who were left into fanatics—but also some of the best light infantry in the Inner Sphere. Aoyama was eager to please and would probably eat a hand grenade if Senefa so ordered. Senefa returned the salute and Aoyama returned to rigorous attention. "At ease, Private," Stengovich said with a smile, and the trooper's hands shot behind her back as she assumed a perfect at-ease position. "PFC Aoyama is here as your guard."

Senefa raised an eyebrow. "That is hardly necessary, Captain." She did not need to add why. Senefa Malthus was considered the best hand-to-hand fighter in the entire Sentinels, with the exception of two people—Sheila Arla-Vlata and Vornzel. And the jury was out on Sheila. Any would-be assassin who broke into their home would face two very upset Clanfolk, trained since birth in combat, both of whom had killed their first enemy before puberty.

Stengovich shrugged. "Nevertheless, Commander, it's Commander Arla-Vlata's orders. She wants _all_ officers above the rank of Major to have someone on guard at all times. We can't take chances that a WOB hit team might take someone out. Hell, Commander Arla-Vlata has six people on her."

"She is the regimental commander. I only command an understrength battalion. And I am a highly trained—"

"—Clanswoman who has almost never been beat in a Circle of Equals. Yes, I know, Commander. And your husband commands an entire company of special forces, including me, and he could kick _our_ asses. That's why there's only one guard for you. Besides, PFC Aoyama could use the experience."

Senefa glanced at Aoyama's posture, her bearing, and especially her eyes. "Private Aoyama, have you seen combat?"

"No, ma'am!" The response was crisp and sharp.

Senefa bit back a sigh. This was Sheila being a little paranoid. There was no arguing about this, then, and there was a threat…even if Senefa thought that WOB assassins would have something better to do than assassinate a battalion commander of a faraway mercenary unit, no matter how much a pain the Sentinels were for them. It was merely to be accepted, and in any case, she was tired. Aoyama would serve as a speedbump to any potential assassins, at least. "Very well. Carry on."

"Yes, ma'am!" Aoyama unslung her weapon and stood in a picture-perfect guard position. Senefa took her bags for Stengovich, smiled a little at his wink, and went into her house.

The interior was dark, and she wondered if Vornzel was home. He knew she was returning today, but duty might have called him away, or perhaps he was out shopping for food. One would not think an Elemental warrior would be something of a gourmet, but Vornzel was. She slipped off her bags and entered the kitchen to hang up her jacket.

Then she smelled him. Vornzel somehow slipped out of the shadows and stood behind her. Her breath caught in her throat. He was wearing the ridiculously-named Hatchetman body spray that she illogically loved. His hands rested on her shoulders. "I have missed you," he whispered in her ear.

"I…I have missed you," she replied.

Without warning, he spun her around and kissed her firmly. Several times. While he did so, his hands were moving, rapidly divesting her of jacket, then her uniform blouse, then her pants. In seconds, Senefa was stripped quite efficiently and in a military fashion. Vornzel was already without a stitch. He picked her up as if she weighed nothing and carried her into the bathroom. Senefa did not resist and was not about to.

They got into the shower, their hands caressing each other, somehow breaking off long enough to turn the taps on. Warm water sprayed over them, and Vornzel then opened a bottle of strawberry-scented shampoo, pouring it over her head. For some reason, Senefa found Vornzel washing her hair to be incredibly erotic, and she was shaking as his fingers massaged the shampoo into her scalp. He was not quite as nonchalant as he seemed, and more of the suds ended up off of her hair than in it, but that made things more fun. Not to mention slippery, which only got worse as he rinsed off her hair.

"Vornzel," Senefa said in a none-too-steady voice, "I humbly request that we continue this in our bedroom."

"Aff, of course," he returned with a wicked glint in his eye. "That was always my intention, Senefa. However, you needed a bath, and it was merely the best way to welcome you home."

"Ah. _Ahhh,"_ she groaned as his fingers slid up her sides. For someone who could bend an aluminum bar with his bare hands, Vornzel could be maddeningly gentle, and he enjoyed being such. Senefa Malthus might have a reputation in the Sentinels as being an ice-cold Clanswoman, but he knew how to bring her to a boil. Though Clan relationships were open, neither had ever wanted to try another.

He turned off the water and they stepped out. He gave her only a desultory toweling off before once more picking her up and heading for the bedroom. Most of the small house was carpeted, but not the kitchen—which was lineoleum—or the bedroom, which had a black marble floor. Senefa kept it polished to a high sheen like everything else meticulously maintained in their spartan home.

Senefa abruptly decided that there was really no point in waiting to start off the festivities, as it were. Siniously, she untangled herself from where he cradled her in his arms, putting her arms around his neck while her long legs went around his waist. She licked his face like an animal and tried to crush herself against his chest. Vornzel's smile widened. When Senefa got well and truly turned on, she approached sex with the same attitude that she approached combat: overwhelming, savage, undeniable force, and all one could do was hang on until Superstorm Senefa finished her amorous rampage. Gentleness or quarter was no longer needed, required, or wanted.

That said, Vornzel was afraid that, the way Senefa was moving, she was likely to do him a mischief, so he continued to hold her, intending to lay her gently on their wide bed. However, Senefa's lamprey-like clinging, her growls as her lips devoured his, and the increasing boldness of her hands were just a bit distracting, and he was not really paying as much attention as an Elemental Star Commander probably should.

Senefa's back had barely touched the bed when Vornzel's still-wet feet slipped on the black marble.

She reacted instinctively, her brain going from sex mode to combat mode in half a second. Faced with the possibility of 250 pounds of muscular Elemental landing directly atop her, Senefa braced herself against the bed, and pitched him over her head—and his—in a perfect judo throw. Unfortunately, not even the genetically-enhanced reflexes of a Clan MechWarrior could buy the second she needed to untangle her legs completely. The result of all this was that Vornzel, after doing a somersault over Senefa, landed hard on his rear end on the opposite of the bed, and Senefa was catapulted into the wall. She could not bite back a shout of pain, while Vornzel let loose with a horrible unClanlike oath. Senefa, dizzy and with her gyro, as it were, definitely out, fell forward.

The back door crashed open, propelled by a size four combat boot. Private First Class Natsuki Aoyama burst into the house, helmet on and submachinegun out. Seeing nothing but noting with admirable situational awareness the wet footprints, she charged, following them into the bedroom. Aoyama fully expected to find Vornzel and Senefa possibly wounded or even dead, and a black-suited Word of Blake assassin standing over them. "Nobody move! On the floor! _Oshioki yo!"_ In her excitement, she lapsed back into her native Japanese.

To her shock, there was no bloody corpse or ninjalike assassin…just a rumpled bed, a dent in the wall, and two very naked people: Vornzel, leaning back against the bed, teeth gritted against the pain, and Senefa, trying to shake off the ringing in her head, her face planted directly in her lover's crotch.

Aoyama's eyes rounded. As she had not witnessed the impromptu demonstration of bedroom gymnastics, she came to exactly the wrong conclusion, though she could hardly be blamed for what rather X-rated thoughts were going through her mind at that moment. Her mouth opened, closed, then she struggled out, "Ah…erhm…buh…"

Vornzel's eyes opened and saw Aoyama standing there, stammering and still holding the submachinegun, one finger on the trigger, the safety clearly off, and the barrel pointing at he and Senefa both. He sprang to his feet, leaving Senefa to sprawl on the floor with a muttered _"_Freebirth!", and put his hands above his head. "Private Aoyama…"

Aoyama's eyes widened even further as her gaze went to where Senefa's head had been a second before. "_Zou,_" she breathed in amazement.

"Private Aoyama!" Vornzel shouted.

"Sir!" Aoyama snapped to attention.

Vornzel did not really know what to say next. Aoyama stood in full battle gear, outfitted for urban warfare, a recruiting poster for the Sentinels Light Infantry, aside from her straying eyes. Across the bed was he and Lieutenant Commander Senefa Malthus, neither of which with a square millimeter of clothing between them. Neither Clan Jade Falcon, nor the Sentinels, nor his years of combat experienced trained a man for something like this. He settled on doctrine. "Return to your post and carry on."

"Sir!" Aoyama hesitated. "Sir, should I report this…" At the smoldering look of imminent homicide in Vornzel's eyes, Aoyama fled. Luckily, the back door had survived her entry better than anyone's dignity.

After he heard the door close and lock, Vornzel sighed and looked down. "Are you all right, Senefa?"

She sat up and rubbed the back of her head. "I…" She smiled and laughed. "I am tactical."

He returned her smile. "I am glad to hear that, quiaff? Shall we go on or shall I find the medikit?"

Senefa stood and kissed him. "Charlie Mike."


	2. King of the Hill

OPERATION TWO: KING OF THE HILL

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: This_ actually happened _to two friends of my dad's when he was in the Air Force, though it was a truck rather than a 'Mech, of course. And I've embellished a little…but not much._

_Rhialla Training Grounds, Drummond_

_Virentofta, Pesht Military District, Draconis Combine_

"I am not _believing_ this."

Richard Habersohn looked up at his _Black Hawk._ From where he stood, one could hardly tell there was any damage to it, but an experienced MechWarrior could tell by how the 'Mech stood: the _Black Hawk_ was already hunched over, to the point where its circular hips were actually almost level with the helicopter-like cockpit. His was leaning to one side, listing to its right. He had popped off the inspection panel to look, and now his lance commander was checking it for herself.

"Yep, it's broken." Louisa Arla-Vlata's voice echoed through the 'Mech's leg. She shinnied out of the inspection panel and dropped to the ground, suspecting to herself—correctly—that the position had left her with her rather shapely rear in the air, and that Habersohn undoubtedly noticed. There was nothing to be done about that, just as there was nothing to be done about the damage to Habersohn's 'Mech. "Hip actuator's cracked straight through."

"Damn." Habersohn resisted the urge to kick the _Black Hawk's _leg. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. It's captured Clantech. Nicia can only work so many miracles."

"We might could graft a _Black Hawk-KU_ hip onto it. But in any case, we can't do it out here." She pulled on a radio headset. "Green Six to Talisman Six."

Alice Atikokan's voice came back. "Go, Green Six."

"Talisman, Green Two has a busted hip. Request a scrub."

"Roger that, Green. We're pretty close to knocking off anyway, so pull your lance off. Call Able and get a Marv."

"Understood. Green Six out." Louisa sighed. It was hot out, enough that both of them were streaming sweat—Habersohn worse than her, since he had been standing under the summer sun for a longer time. Under combat conditions, Habersohn would have been forced to limp back to base, forcing Louisa to go on with a short lance, but this was just an exercise. Preserving the 'Mech took precendence over whatever benefits could be had by battalion-level training, especially one as precious as a Clantech _Black Hawk._ Louisa radioed "Able"—the techs waiting a few kilometers to the rear—and requested a "Marv"—specifically an AAMRV-10 BattleMech Recovery Vehicle. She then told Yurika Misumaru and Hitomi Dunn, waiting just in sight below a shallow ridge, to go on ahead. They would meet back at their base in Sancrist, which was two hours west.

Louisa leaned against the leg of her own 'Mech, a _Nightsky._ She jumped away from it a half-second later: the sun had heated the armor to sizzling. She also looked up and wondered if she wanted to make the climb to the cockpit to retrieve her water bottle. As if reading her mind, Habersohn threw her a spare. The water was warm, but it was wet. "Thanks, Rich."

"Not a problem, Louisa." He sat crosslegged on the ground, and she joined him, using the _Black Hawk_ as shade. "Well, it could be worse. At least we're not getting shot at."

"Yeah, that would suck. Like what happened to Hitomi last year on New Wessex."

"That was her fault, though." He took a drink from his water bottle. Louisa saw he came prepared: attached to his belt were two more, all empty. "Damn, Rich. Thirsty?" she chided him.

"Ah, it's this damn dry air. I come from a wet climate."

Their conversation trailed off, as it usually did nowadays. Louisa was aware that Richard Habersohn liked her a great deal, and that made her feel awkward. Louisa Arla-Vlata, the adopted daughter of the Sentinels' commanding officer, Sheila Arla-Vlata, was a natural at lance command. When it came to being a MechWarrior, that too had come naturally. What Louisa was completely clueless about was her own attractiveness. If forced to look in a mirror, Louisa would catalogue the things that she didn't like—a pimple here, a forehead she considered too broad, freckles that only came out in the summer that she referred to as fly feces. She missed the fact that a peaches-and-cream exterior, flaming red hair that she wore in two ponytails, and the typical well-toned body of a MechWarrior made her mouth-watering gorgeous to the opposite sex. Not helping matters was Louisa being married to her job: she rarely socialized.

This put Habersohn in a strange predicament. He was the only male besides her father that Louisa regularly associated with, as the only man in Alpha Light lance. He was most definitely attracted to her, but there were more than a few things that kept him from asking for a date. First of all, he was a professional MechWarrior, and Louisa was his lance commander, and one did not mess around on company time. Second, he was a good ten years older than she was. Third, Louisa showed little interest in romance of any kind, one reason she was called the "Ice Baby," though never in her earshot. And finally, most importantly, Louisa's parents tended to be a tad overprotective. True, she was in her mid-twenties and out on her own, but her father Maximilian Canis-Vlata was known to polish a shotgun in front of potential suitors when Louisa was in secondary school, and her mother Sheila…well, it was probably a bad idea to upset the regiment's commander, especially one that enjoyed sparring with Clan MechWarriors on a regular basis.

But dammit, he was still attracted to her.

The arrival of the Marv interrupted his thoughts. He finished off his third water bottle and met the techs as they stopped and got out of the vehicle. The AAMRV-10 was strictly functional: it was a box on eight large wheels, with a tough suspension designed to take a lot of abuse and carry a great deal of weight. In the back was an open bed designed to hold a 'Mech; the front was taken up by a cab designed for four people.

The techs were old veterans, led by Senior Tech Flicka Norkan. Norkan was second only to Master Tech Nicia Caii in skill and seniority; Louisa was surprised to see him out on manuevers. He barely glanced into the inspection panel before dropping down and ordering the techs to close up the _Black Hawk._ "Yep, it's busted," he confirmed. "I don't want you walking on that, MechWarrior. We'll load up your 'Mech in the back. You'll have to ride in 'er, though—I've got two newbies in the cab. We're training them." He nodded at Louisa. "Won't take but a minute, Lance Commander. You can head on back."

Louisa almost agreed, but then hesitated. She wanted to find out what was nagging Habersohn. "Senior Tech, is that Devon Miller with you?"

"Yeah, why?"

Louisa smiled, which she _did_ know sometimes got her things she wanted. "Well, he's trying out for his MechWarrior qualification next month, right? Why not give him some experience?" She thumbed back at her _Nightsky._ "He can pilot my 'Mech back. I'll ride with Rich here—we can ride in the bed."

Norkan considered it, fingering his chin. "Sure, why not? If'n you don't mind, Lance Commander."

"Not at all."

"Yo, Miller! Get yer ass over here. You're taking Miss Louisa's _Nightsky_ back to Sancrist. Get one scratch on it and her mom will have you crucified." Miller was all grins, assuring Louisa he would not even mess up the paint. Like all techs, he already had a small amount of training at piloting BattleMechs, in case a MechWarrior was wounded and could not pilot his or her machine back to base, and carried his own cooling vest and helmet in the storage trunks of the Marv. He quickly retrieved them and clambered up the side of the _Nightsky, _grateful for the extra training.

Louisa watched as Habersohn limped the _Black Hawk_ over to the back of the Marv. He stepped onto a ramp, which lifted the 50-ton 'Mech into the back of the Marv sideways. Habersohn and the other techs then secured a number of myomer tiedowns from the 'Mech to the bed, securing it. Luckily the _Black Hawk_ was narrow enough that it was not forced to sit down; most 'Mechs were placed in the Marv sitting down, giving it the appearance of a giant, armored man sitting in the back of a pickup. Once everything was tied down and secured, Louisa climbed the ladder into the bed—which sat a good six feet off the ground—and took up a position next to Habersohn. The techs helpfully provided a blanket for both to sit on, and a few fresh, cold water bottles, taking their empties.

The Marv started off with a chug of exhaust, and began driving towards the highway. It was over broken ground, but with the suspension of the AAMRV-10, neither MechWarrior noticed. They turned onto the four-lane highway and headed for Sancrist, 90 kilometers west. To Louisa's surprise, once the Marv got up to speed, the wind blowing off the mountains made the ride actually pleasant. Through cutouts in the side of the high bed, they could see other vehicles slowing down to gawk at the big Marv and its payload. Though Virentofta was no stranger to 'Mech assaults, and though the Sentinels had been there a decade, seeing the regiment move on the roads was still a fascinating sight to the planet's citizens.

"Damn nice of you to ride with me, Louisa," Habersohn began after a good fifteen minutes on the road.

"Oh, no trouble. That seat in my _Nightsky_ was turning my butt into a square anyway."

Habersohn covered his sudden discomfiture with a drink of water: the last thing he needed to be reminded of was Louisa Arla-Vlata's derriere. _Ask her, idiot,_ he demanded of himself. But then two things happened to interrupt his train of thought. One was the sight of Louisa leaning back against the leg of the _Black Hawk_, letting the wind ruffle her hair, closing her eyes and smiling beatifically. It was enough to make any man hesitate.

The other was the fact that he suddenly, really needed to go to the bathroom.

Panic set in. Luckily, he only needed to urinate, but that was cold comfort. The Marv certainly didn't have a portable toilet anywhere, and even climbing back into the _Black Hawk_ and using the relief tube was out of the question: while the 'Mech was tied down in the bed, there was no way to access the cockpit. He had felt the urge to go back at the training grounds, but was too embarrassed to go into the bushes with Louisa standing there; had it been another guy, he would not have hesitated, but Habersohn was just old-fashioned enough to not go in front of a girl. He had figured at the time he could hold it.

Unfortunately, that did not solve his immediate problem. He certainly couldn't just take a leak in the bed, for the same reason he couldn't use the bushes, and the techs would swab out a Gauss Rifle with him in any case for just peeing on their vehicle. There were no empty water bottles. _Oh God, what do I do?_ he thought frantically.

"Rich, are you okay?" Habersohn realized Louisa was staring at him.

"Um, sort of." There was no hiding it, even if his face burned with embarrassment. "I don't know how to say this, but I've got to pee. Really bad."

Louisa's expression took on the same tinge of panic as his. "Oh, shit."

"Yeah. Any ideas?"

She looked up at the 'Mech, discarded that, then at the cab, discarded that, and then at the bed, and discarded that. "Um…no." Then she suddenly straightened. "Wait, I do have one!"

"Oh, good."

"Pee off the trailer!"

"You mean _on the road?"_

"Yeah, why not? I mean, it's legal on Virentofta. I see people pull off the side of the road and do their thing all the time."

"Except we can't exactly stop the Marv, Louisa. They can't pull over without blocking traffic, even if we _could_ communicate with them." There was no way to talk to the techs in the cab from the bed, leaving Louisa with the sinking feeling that she and Habersohn had screwed up.

"Well…just pee off the side, then."

"Oh yeah, where everyone can see me just whip it out! Kahvi will make me commit hara-kiri, Louisa, assuming there's anything left of me after Atikokan and your mother find out! You know how sensitive Kahvi is about 'we are guests here'!"

"Okay, okay." Louisa walked over to the front of the bed. There was a door there, but it only led out to the open partition between cab and bed, where the techs' storage lockers were. The rear window was too high to get the techs' attention: they could see the 'Mech but not the two MechWarriors. Louisa now realized she had _really_ screwed up. Still, there was another possibility. "Rich, you could whiz off here."

Habersohn stuck his head through the door. "Say what?"

"Yeah. Listen, the cab and the bed block most of the view from the road. As long as no one pulls right alongside us—and what idiot would do that next to a 60-ton Marv—no one's going to see you!"

Habersohn carefully climbed out into the partition. It could work. He was about to agree when the Marv hit a bump. It wasn't much, but there was nothing to hold onto besides a stanchion on the front of the bed. There was no way he was going to be able to do his business and hold on at the same time. The suspension only did so much. "No good, Louisa."

Louisa made a hurried decision. "All right, look. I'll hold your belt so you don't fall off. It'll be okay."

"You sure?"

"Yes! If I watch you do the pee-pee dance any more, you're going to be doing the same for _me._ And that will be messy. Let's do this."

"You're a lady and a scholar, Louisa." Habersohn unbuckled his MechWarrior shorts and unzipped his fly. From her position—holding onto the back loop of his belt with one hand and the stanchion with the other—there was no way Louisa could see anything, for which Habersohn was eternally grateful. In any case, urgent necessity overcame modesty. "Oh, man, that feels good."

A second later, they felt the Marv downshift and slow. "What the frak…oh, _shit!"_ Louisa suddenly exclaimed.

"What?"

"We're on Bearmouth Hill!"

"Oh _shit!"_ Bearmouth Hill was a well-known landmark to the Sentinels. Sancrist was in a mountain valley, and to get there, the highway went over Bearmouth Hill. The approach from the east was so gradual that it could barely be felt, but at the top, the highway dropped into a six-percent, curving grade for two kilometers. Staying upright was about to become problematic. "_Oh shit!"_ Habersohn repeated.

"Hurry up and pee!" Louisa shouted.

"I can't go any faster!"

"You'd better try! We're nearly at the top!" Louisa got a glimpse of a sign going past, announcing that they were at Bearmouth Hill, elevation 1200 meters. "Hurry!"

"Almost there…almost there…"

* * *

Norkan, driving the Marv, glanced at his watch and checked the road. There was nothing in front of them for a few kilometers, and trying to slow down through the curves of Bearmouth Hill was kind of a pain. He would let the Marv coast a bit, confident in his brakes and driving ability not to let it go out of control.

* * *

"He's not slowing down!" Louisa shrilled. "Norkan, you maniac!"

"Dammit!" Habersohn yelled in panic. He was done, but then they were at the top—and then over the top. The Marv began to pick up speed and went through the curves much faster than a vehicle of its size was supposed to do. "Don't let go, Louisa! For the love of God, don't let go!" He placed his feet wide apart and balanced with his arms, but it was Louisa's grip on his belt that was keeping him from flying off the Marv and either hitting the pavement with lethal force, or being crushed under its wheels. There was no chance of zipping up without falling.

"I won't let go!" She felt like she was being racked, her knuckles turning white around the stanchion and Habersohn's belt. "I'll never let go!" She wasn't about to let one of her MechWarriors die, not like this.

* * *

"Hey, Flicka," one of the other techs said. "You're kinda going fast, man."

Norkan checked the speedometer. "Oh, yeah. Ten klicks over the truck limit. Sorry 'bout that. Better slow down." He saw something in the rearview mirror. "There's a bus coming up alongside anyway. Probably want some pics of the 'Mech." He grinned at the other techs. "It would be bad for the regiment if we wiped them off on a guardrail, I s'pose."

* * *

"We're slowing down," Louisa said with relief. "If we could get off these damn curves, it'll be all right."

"How much further?"

Louisa spared a quick look. "About another klick."

"Man, this is the worst day ever…" Habersohn looked up and went pale. The day was about to become infintely worse. "Oh, shit."

"Now what?" Louisa turned and saw. "Oh, shit."

Matching speeds with the Marv was a school bus, in standard yellow and black, marked with the words ST. IGNATIUS LOYOLA SECONDARY SCHOOL. The good news was it was not filled with children. The bad news was that it _was_ filled with nuns, down to wearing the traditional black-and-white robes. Louisa remembered touring the school on a goodwill trip; the nuns there were traditional Roman Catholics, eschewing the idea of nuns dressing casually while on duty, preferring the millennia-old habits and hoods. The windows were filled with habit-dressed nuns staring out the windows. The driver of the bus had indeed slowed down so the nuns could get a good look at the _Black Hawk_ and the Marv, but now they were getting a good look at Richard Habersohn—all of him.

And worse, though neither MechWarrior could hear them, they were quite obviously laughing their heads off.

* * *

At the western end of Bearmouth Hill was a rest area. "Let's pull off here," the other tech told Norkan. "I need to pee."

"Yeah, me too." The rest area catered to over-the-road planetary truckers, so it could easily accommodate the Marv. He waved at the nuns, passing him as he took the exit. "Man, those penguins are laughing their asses off about something."

"Maybe the Ice Baby back there mooned 'em."

"Don't even say that, dude," Norkan replied as they pulled to a stop. "Her dad finds out you called her that, and he'll make you clean off his _Battlemaster_ with your tongue." He opened the door and climbed down the ladder, then hauled himself up into the partition and opened the door leading to the cab. "Hey, guys, pit stop. You gotta…pee?" Norkan paused, because he noticed that Habersohn was struggling with the zipper. His face was flushed. So was Louisa's. "Damn thing's stuck," Norkan heard Habersohn mutter.

Louisa noticed Norkan and turned even redder. She pushed past him, yelling over her shoulder, "Yeah, I sure as hell have to do _something!"_

Norkan shrugged—MechWarriors were all crazy, and females the worst of the lot—and climbed into the bed. He stepped over to Habersohn, who finally got the zipper up. "Hey, MechWarrior."

"Yeah?"

Amongst the techs, informality was the rule. Caii insisted on it, saying rank didn't matter when you were trying to weld armor plates back on in forty below weather, or trying to reload ammunition under artillery fire. The techs often extended this informality to the MechWarriors, who either didn't mind or didn't feel like mentioning it to the people who kept their reasons for existing running. "Look, Habersohn, I don't mean to be an ass or anything, but…" Norkan dropped his voice. "If you're screwing the Commander's daughter, and her parents find out, well…can Miller have your _'Hawk_ after they draw and quarter you? Clantech's hard to come by, and that boy could use a leg up."

"What—no! That's not what happened!"

"I mean, it's none of my business, dude. More power to you. She's a good looking femme—"

"Dammit, don't even say that!" Hurriedly, Habersohn explained what happened. Then he felt his face turning even more red, as Norkan dissolved into laughter. "It's not funny, Senior Tech!"

"Yes it is!" Norkan took a breath, and still laughing, held up one of the water bottles. "Why didn't you just empty one of these and use _it_?"

Habersohn collapsed against the bed of the truck. "Oh…shit."


	3. Battletech Bites

OPERATION THREE: BATTLETECH BITES

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: Also based on a true story. And yes, I get the feeling that PFC Natsuki Aoyama is turning into the fall girl for this series._

* * *

_Sentinels Headquarters Virentofta_

_Virentofta, Pesht Military District, Draconis Combine_

Maysa Bari walked down the brightly-lit hallways of the Sentinels RCAT's headquarters. People smiled at her and she smiled back, a bright grin that never failed to liven up even the most depressingly cloudy day. No matter who they were, Maysa always had that smile for them. Flanks might be collapsing, artillery falling, the Sentinels in full retreat—Maysa Bari never lost her sunny disposition. "We're going to be all right," she would say, and everyone believed her. She became a MechWarrior when she was just short of her sixteenth birthday. She was older now, but that just meant that she lost the teenage gawkiness and crippling shyness that characterized her during the Clan War. It was an older, wiser Maysa that walked these halls, but one that had filled out into a beautiful woman. She still kept her red hair short, cut away from her temples in what was known as a "MechWarrior haircut," but that just seemed to enhance her beauty. Her voice no longer cracked when she gave commands; it was clear and cultured, with a voice so charming that she once reduced an enemy Clan MechWarrior to tears with just a song.

She went up a flight of stairs, her ponytail hopping, and walked up to the not-all-that-imposing door of Sheila Arla-Vlata, the commander of the Sentinels. She knocked once, humming a little song to herself. Maysa enjoyed seeing Sheila; the Sentinels were bigger now, and Maysa, as Sheila's second-in-command, was stationed a good 300 kilometers away from her friend. It was a sacrifice that had to be made.

"Enter."

_Uh oh,_ Maysa thought as she opened the door. She was a pretty good judge of character and mood, and Sheila was not in a good mood. That meant someone was in trouble. Maysa couldn't imagine it would be her.

Sheila Arla-Vlata sat behind a desk, cluttered as usual; Sheila never had a head for paperwork, and referred to her desk as her horizontal filing cabinet. Her expression was not a happy one, her face hidden behind intertwined fingers, half of which were steel. Green eyes smoldered above them. Nor was she alone. Standing at attention next to the desk was a young woman, wearing the uniform of the Sentinels Light Infantry, rank tabs of a private first class and the nametape of AOYAMA.

Maysa understood that she had not been summoned as a social call. She came to attention. "Commander Maysa Bari reporting as ordered, ma'am."

"At ease, both of you." Sheila's eyes went from Aoyama to Maysa and back. "Commander Bari, this is PFC Natsuki Aoyama." Aoyama's face twitched. _I don't think I know her,_ Maysa thought, _why would she not like me?_ Deep down, Maysa wondered if anyone disliked her. Certainly no one ever said anything.

Sheila picked up a piece of paper, peered at it, cursed softly, and put on a pair of glasses. Neither she nor Maysa wanted to admit it, but they _were_ getting older. "Commander Bari, you remember Exercise Fresh Bath Alpha, do you not?"

"Yes, ma'am." That was a codename that was hard to forget. Maysa knew that a computer came up with random names when they were required, but sometimes it could be just a tad bizarre.

"What was it?"

Maysa's expression turned quizzical. Sheila knew what Fresh Bath Alpha was; she ordered it. She suspected this was not for Aoyama's benefit. That meant Sheila was more upset than Maysa thought. "Um…well, it was a simulated headhunter attack on my headquarters. It was a test to see if we could survive a surprise ground assault."

"Mm hm. Continue."

"Well, we did."

"Details, please."

"Oh. Well, let's see." Maysa took a moment to gather her thoughts. The exercise was only a week ago, but it was something of a blur. "The SLI came in the morning, about nine AM, I think. They were in two Nightshade helicopters and they rappeled into my headquarters area in the Rhialla Proving Grounds." Inwardly, Maysa thought she could've ended the exercise in a few moments, if the rules of the exercise allowed her to be in her _Rifleman;_ helicopters were depressingly easy targets while hovering. The point, though, was to be able to hold the headquarters when there wasn't time to get to the 'Mechs. "We followed our plan for such an attack: secure the headquarters area until a reaction force could arrive. And we did…for the most part."

Sheila's left eyebrow rose. "Oh?"

Maysa turned a little red. This part was not in her formal report, but now that she had opened her mouth, she had to continue. "Um, yes, well…Major Nakajima was caught outside the defensive perimeter. He was in the bathroom when the exercise began and was, ah, captured." The story was somewhat funny: Homare Nakajima was on the toilet when a SLI trooper kicked in the stall door and ordered him to put his hands up. Nakajima, nonplussed, had replied that the trooper would get "one now and one in a minute."

"I didn't know that. But think back, Commander Bari," Sheila said, voice edged with sarcasm. "What else happened during the exercise?"

"We _did_ hold the headquarters area…"

"Yes, you did. But think back."

Maysa turned redder. "Oh, yes. Louisa-Lance Commander, um, Arla-Vlata, I mean, wanted to launch an immediate counterattack and overrun the LZ before the SLI were completely down. I turned that suggestion down, though in retrospect it may have been a good one."

Sheila looked at Maysa over the tops of her glasses. "But she went out anyway."

"She charged out, yes."

"Yelling for people to follow her."

"Yes."

"And you slammed the door behind her and locked it."

Maysa found something interesting on the floor to look at. "Er…yes, ma'am."

Sheila shook her head. "You're close, Maysa, but that's not why you're here. Keep thinking back. When the SLI tried to force the door."

Maysa tried to remember. "We were trying to brace the door. Philip—Lance Commander Scott—was pushing against it along with MechWarrior Hawk."

"And you were helping."

"Yes."

Sheila motioned at Aoyama, who had been silent the whole time. "PFC Aoyama here did manage to get partially in. At least an arm."

Maysa's face fell. "Oh, Lord…" She turned to Aoyama. "I am so sorry, Private. That heavy door was pushed against your arm! It must have been painful. Did you get bruised?"

Aoyama's eyes flicked to her to see if Maysa was being sarcastic. She wasn't. The young trooper's eyes then went to Sheila. She hesitated, then nodded. "Yes, ma'am. A little."

"But that's not all that happened, was it?" Sheila leaned back in her chair. "Show Commander Bari your arm, Private."

Aoyama obediently rolled up her sleeve. There were faint bruises there, but also several parallel, semicircular marks. Maysa peered at her, then she understood. "Why, that's terrible! Someone bit you? Who bit you?"

"That 'who' be you," Sheila remarked. She held up the paper. "'When PFC Aoyama opened the door and attempted to wedge herself in the opening to drop a simulated satchel charge into Commander Bari's CP, Commander Bari grabbed her wrist, rolled up her sleeve, and not only bit PFC Aoyama in the arm, but was reportedly chewing on her and growling.' This was Lance Commander Scott's report, Maysa," Sheila said. "Philip also said you looked like you had mistaken Private Aoyama's arm for corn on the cob, as I recall."

Maysa was now pale. "I…I bit you?"

"Yes, ma'am," replied Aoyama sadly. She had never wanted it to go this far, but she was required to report any injuries. Maysa did not break the skin, but regulations were regulations. And it had hurt. Being chomped upon by a superior officer was yet one more thing Aoyama had never anticipated when she joined the Sentinels, along with interrupting wild, passionate sex between _two_ superior officers. One simply was not told these things in training.

"I…I don't know what to say," Maysa said, feeling terrible. "I'm so very sorry, Private Aoyama! I…don't know what came over me!"

Sheila bit her lip. It wasn't really funny, but it kind of was. "Do you wish to press charges, Private Aoyama?"

"No!" Aoyama insisted, wishing she was somewhere else. "It…I…I had to report it…"

"Of course you did," Sheila reassured her. "Maysa, I will allow you to think of an appropriate punishment for yourself." Sheila knew that anything she thought of would pale in comparison to anything Maysa could come up with.

Maysa quickly did, coming up with truly dire consequences for herself, which stopped short of bodily harm or suicide, but included things like confinement to quarters, bread and water rations for a month, and an entire paycheck—which for the second-in-command of a two-regiment RCT, was substantial—donated to Aoyama or her charity of choice. Aoyama, for her part, was nearly in tears. Sheila had heard of a group of people who nominated themselves Maysa's Mafia, who were dedicated to keeping safe the Saint of the Sentinels. Aoyama had apparently joined this somewhat bizarre group in basic training. Finally, they settled on Maysa treating Aoyama to dinner in a five-star restaurant.

"I think that should take care of it," Sheila said. "There is one last thing, Commander Bari, that I have to ask…"

"Anything, Sheila. Anything."

Sheila could not help but grin. "Are you caught up on your rabies shots?"


	4. Pants On the Ground

OPERATION FOUR: PANTS ON THE GROUND

_Mileena Hall, Sentinels Base Sancrist_

_Sancrist, Virentofta, Draconis Combine_

Louisa Arla-Vlata turned off the shower and dried herself off. A nice shower was just the ticket after a long day on the job. The life of a lance commander was not all fighting and shooting and the other things that authors liked to write stories about. No, she sighed to herself, if only it could be something that simple. There was also paperwork—lots of it. Lance commanders had to fill out forms for everything: requisitions for everything from ammunition to toilet paper, pay forms, environmental impact statements, leave requests…that paperwork did not take terribly long, but it was boring. Louisa knew that there were people in the Snowbirds who planned on promoting her to company command when Alice Atikokan retired. If she became a major, there would be even _more_ paperwork.

The mere thought of that erased what good feelings the shower left behind. Louisa was having a bad day.

It started when she got up, when the alarm intruded on a particularly nice dream. When she rolled cursing out of her bed—or rack, as it was called—she promptly tripped over a pair of pants and fell into the rack that lay only five feet away. That rack was occupied by Yurika Misumaru, who slept so soundly that she did not even notice when Louisa's face landed on her stomach. The younger woman mumbled something about that she didn't _want_ to have sex right now, rolled over, and nearly took Louisa with her. Extricating herself, Louisa had then managed to rip a hole in one pair of fatigue pants, found another and once more tripped over another article of clothing, Yurika's shirt. The trip to the tiny closet laughingly referred to as her office was through bright sunshine, which only served to depress her more, since her office was underground and she would not be seeing the sun very much. By the time she emerged from the basement, the sun was no longer her friend and a blazing, sticky hot enemy. Moreover, because she belatedly remembered that she had forgotten a briefing, she had grabbed some shortbread cookies for lunch. Shortbread gave her heartburn, which made the normally mind-numbing boring brief into the ninth circle of hell.

_Well,_ Louisa thought to herself as she wrapped the towel around her body, _at least we got out of there early today. Still plenty of time to enjoy the day. _Given that it was high summer on Virentofta, it meant that there would be sunlight as late as ten in the evening. The heat would cool off, and there would be frisball in the park. Or something good on the tridee. Another thought soured her. _Oh, dammit. It's Tuesday. That means two hours of that pony show that Yurika likes. Gad. _As a rule, Louisa hated cutesy stuff. She didn't like fluffy comedies and she wasn't much for animated features. Cutesy, fluffy, animated shows made her cringe.

_How in the hell do those ponies pilot 'Mechs with no damn fingers anyhow?_ Louisa thought darkly as she made her way from the shower to the room she shared with Yurika. Usually she would put on a bathrobe and slippers between the shower and her room, but it was only about ten steps between the two, so she figured she could make do with a towel. Besides, she couldn't find her bathrobe in any case.

The room she and Yurika shared was tiny but efficient. There was only about fifty square feet of space, if that; between the beds was only a four foot space. Above each single bed there were shelves and a light inset into the wall, and behind each bed a small desk. Two closets flanked the door. Though it was tough for two people to live in, Louisa actually liked it, down to the musty smell it gave off. It smelled like…home. It was here when she came back from a tough campaign. It had seen much, from a young, nervous lance commander meeting a bouncy, extroverted young lancemate for the first time, to holding that same lancemate when the latter's boyfriend broke up with her, to the lancemate holding _her_ lance commander after they had lost another lancemate in combat. Much laughter and tears had filled this cozy space, and Louisa knew that—if she was promoted to major and got her own room—she would miss it.

Until she looked down. Piled in the middle, between the two beds, waiting in ambush for bare feet, was a pile of clothes. On top were two pair of panties—dirty ones. In fact, given the smell from the pile of clothes, they were all dirty.

As a rule, Louisa was something of a neat freak. She was not obsessive over it; it was impossible to be a MechWarrior and not get dirty. However, she liked to have a clean, straight room. Things could be out of place—hell, Yurika never made her bed, and that didn't bother Louisa overmuch—but messy was not something she liked. She did not fear surprise inspections, given that she would be the one doing the inspecting, but dammit, it was not too much to ask to pick up after oneself. She had warned Yurika about this, and while the other woman had nodded emphatically, apologized profusely, and cleaned up quickly, the lesson never took and the floor was still covered in dirty, smelly clothes. And leaving one's underwear out where the proverbial world could see it was just not done. Louisa Arla-Vlata had more than a bit of a puritan streak in her, and underwear fell into that category of Things Not To Be Seen Or Talked About. Like sex, it was a reverent subject. Not that Yurika knew about reverence, since she took great pleasure in describing her occasional sexual escapades in excruciating detail that made Hitomi Dunn howl with laughter, Richard Habersohn grin and snicker, and Louisa feel like committing suicide with a spoon so it would hurt more.

Louisa dressed angrily. The more Louisa thought about her roommate, the angrier she got. Oh, she liked Yurika a great deal; they were, after all, best friends. But enough was enough.

"Oh, son of a _bitch!"_ Louisa shouted, because she had flung open one of her drawers to find that, well, she had no drawers left. A quick glance at the hamper that was wedged into one corner confirmed her fears: it was laundry day, _past_ laundry day, and it was Yurika's turn to do the laundry. Yurika would procrastinate, of course, and when she _did_ do the laundry, she would invariably use detergent with too much starch. Once, Louisa was forced to ram a fist down both pants legs to loosen them up; the pants were so starched they could stand on their own. The Misumarus evidently never taught their daughter to do laundry.

Enough was enough.

Louisa put on a pair of fatigue shorts, eschewing underwear: it was not like anyone would know she was going commando. She did find one clean bra, which was good, in that she would not be bouncing around, as it were. (That was something else, too. Louisa considered herself to be well-proportioned, and she was. Yet it seemed that it would take a spiked club to get guys to notice her, while a breathless sigh from Yurika brought all the boys to the 'Mech bay. Not that Louisa wanted boys to notice her, since that would interfere with the important business of being a MechWarrior. That was the excuse, anyway.) A T-shirt was fine, along with knee socks and shoes. She rammed a ballcap on her head with extreme prejudice, then gathered up the pile of clothes between the beds, wrinkled her nose at the smell, and went out into the hall, letting the door slam shut behind her. "Make way passage!" she shouted, and men and women flattened themselves on either side, rather than incur the wrath of the Commander's Daughter, who was evidently so pissed off she had even forgotten to braid her hair in their customary twin tails. She kicked the buttons for the elevator, tried not to sneeze at the sinister smell in there—a smell that had defied companies of MechWarriors armed with gallons of Freebreeze to conquer it—and made her way to the basement.

Mileena Hall had an easy way to get rid of garbage: an incinerator. Through a complex series of geothermal layers and equipment, the garbage burned was converted to heat without stink, and would heat the eight-story building in the winter. In the summer, the heat was converted to power. Louisa, balancing her maladorous load with one hand while opening the incinerator door with the other, got the panel slid aside and tossed the entire load in. She slammed the door shut triumphantly, waited for the safety locks to engage, and hit the ACTIVATE button with a gleeful smile. She could not resist brushing her hands together in a job well done.

In a better if vengeful mood, Louisa took the elevator back to her room. Through the door Louisa heard that damned cheery song that announced the beginning of Yurika Misumaru's favorite show. She opened the door and walked in.

Yurika was as she was born, though she had grown up considerably since then. A towel lay rolled up in the corner. "Louisa Louisa Louisa!" she said happily, her customary greeting to her best friend, which nine times out of ten elicted a smile from said best friend. The tenth time, like now, it just made Louisa want to render the other woman unconscious. "You're just in time!"

"For what?"

"Oh, it's a marathon tonight! You know you haven't seen season four yet."

Louisa had not seen seasons two or three yet either, nor was she about to. "And you're standing here naked why?"

"Ah, I've already seen the first two episodes. I was gonna go grab a quick shower. It's hot today."

"So I noticed."

"Well, _I_ noticed that the pile of clothes I left on the floor here are gone. Including my last pair of panties. I just changed really quick and went out to play some frisball. Which is why I need that shower. Do you know where my clothes went?"

Louisa could not, and did not, resist a savage grin. "I threw them in the damn incinerator."

"You _what?"_ Yurika's eyes rounded.

"You heard me. I got tired of tripping over your clothes, Yurika, and even more tired of them smelling up the place. You never put your stuff away, so guess what? I chucked them into the incinerator. Maybe next time you won't just throw them on the gee-dee floor!"

Yurika, for a moment, was at a loss. Then she smiled, grinned, and began to laugh. Uproariously. She collapsed onto her bed and was holding her sides in mirth. "What's your problem?" Louisa demanded. She always knew Yurika would snap someday, but figured it would be under different circumstances. When she continued to laugh and didn't answer, Louisa shouted, "Dammit, Yurika! Either tell me what's going on or I rip off your head and write graffiti with the stump!"

"Because…snerk…" Yurika caught her breath, "those weren't _my_ panties…those were _yours!_ I dumped out the hamper trying to find my other pair!"

Later, Louisa would claim the other reason that she hadn't beaten Yurika into a coma was because the regiment was shorthanded and no one else was crazy enough to pilot a _Valkyrie_ anyway.


End file.
